Heron Lake Plateau I decided to remodel, I'm going for mid-century mob hit

It didn't seem like it was possible for them to get any closer, and yet somehow, Quixote inched even closer to her. The comfort and warmth of the contact was a welcome thing, and she rested her head against his and wrapped her tail around his hindquarters. She grinned in acknowledgement of his comment, confident in knowing that she could ask him to bring her the moon and somehow, he would figure out a way to do it. For now, though, she was content with the way things were, and as the rain poured down around them and isolated them in their own shadowy little world, she truly couldn't have asked for more at that moment.

His next words both warmed her heart and made her feel a little pang of sadness for him. His birth pack didn't sound like a very pleasant bunch, from what little she'd heard of them. He deserved so much better, and she was glad for whatever circumstances had brought Quixote to the Redhawks. She touched his muzzle with her nose, the gesture intended to be both reassuring and affectionate, and said softly, "You're their father. I want you to be around them, every step of the way." She leaned back a little and gazed at him, remembering her experience with raising her youngest siblings. "We're going to mess up. That's all parenthood really is -- a bunch of fuck-ups and blunders -- and you do your best to balance it out with the good things in the hopes of ending up with a mostly normal wolf when they're all grown up." She grinned and kissed his cheek, adding, "We'll be okay. I've raised kids before, and you're going to be a great dad."